Walking With a Ghost
by captivation
Summary: au. "Sleep is known as a natural period of rest, but Olivia is not resting — she can't be, for there is peace in rest."


idk i'm just writing this as the inspiration hits, so there may be more parts. who knows.

_**i don't own the clique.**_

* * *

There's a sensation of drowning. She lays in the bed with her arms raised; they are swinging wildly above her, while her legs thrash and kick beneath the silk. Her head shakes and incoherent words are pouring from her lips in a soft, desperate murmur.

Sleep is known as a natural period of rest, but Olivia is not resting — she can't be, for there is peace in rest.

.

Images of that night haunt her, and her last words to him resound in her ears, ringing like knells. They prod her, serving as a dismal reminder of her callous behaviour. Everything repeats for what feels like forever, and she thinks she may go deaf listening to it. She can't block it out; she can only listen in horror until it eventually fades...

But her torment has not come to an end.

To replace her regret, more scathing words begin to play. They swirl around in her mind, cutting off her breath, crushing her heart, stirring a storm. _It's your fault. _Three simple words that, when put together, carry a heavy meaning.

_It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault._

And it _is_ her fault. Of this, she is certain.

The visions come flooding again so clearly, it's like she's reliving the moment. She can see Kemp's disheveled hair, which the light breeze of the night has tousled even more. His sea green eyes are filled with frustration, likely mirroring her brown ones. He has his arms crossed, and she can tell that he's trying his hardest not to lose his temper with her; the vein in his head stands out vibrantly against his pallid skin.

She's yelling. She can't see herself, but she hears it all. Her voice is screechy and unbearable, and she wonders how Kemp is managing to put up with it. As the pitch increases, she realises that she must be crying and, with a surge of dread, remembers that those tainted words are coming up again. Olivia wants to bury her head beneath the ground to avoid hearing them.

_I never want to see you again._

The deed is done.

The hurt in his eyes is there for only a split second; it is swiftly replaced by weakly feigned apathy. The silence that settles between them is nothing but poignant, and although she wants to throw herself in his arms and take it all back, she doesn't. She wants him to come to her, because she is a selfish girl. And she will always be a selfish girl.

As expected, Kemp is not the knight in shining armour that she wants him to be. He never has been, and now, he never will be. The vision of Kemp turns away, leaving her teary-eyed and broken.

.

She awakens with a start. Her hands no longer flail wildly, but are now clinging to the sheets with tangible desperation — the sort of desperation she wishes Kemp had had when his life was being pried from his nimble fingers.

Olivia raises her upper body slowly, and leans against her bedhead, tired and weak. She remains that way for a while, staring into nothingness until her eyes dart all over the room. She sees him. She sees him everywhere, and that will probably never change.

Covers are cast off of her body reluctantly, and she slunks out of bed. Her gaze is resting on the water and the bottle of tablets on her end table. At her sides, her hands clench into fists, relax, clench into fists, relax, clench into fists, relax…

Olivia exhales slowly and grabs the bottle. She lets two pills fall into the palm of her hand and hesitates before returning it to its place with a sigh. Her fingers then wrap around the cool glass, which her mother had likely brought in while she slept. It's obvious that her mother worries. Olivia is depressed, not daft — she hasn't missed the new silver strands in her mother's brown hair, or the fresh wrinkles. She just chooses to ignore them, in fear of what acknowledging them may bring.

Again, she is a selfish girl. Inconsiderate, too.

With the little energy she can muster, she finishes her morning routine.


End file.
